Chapter 15 #3
Nice wordplay. “I’m not sorry.” An afternoon with Everly? I’ll take it. And wouldn’t it be great if we ran across a mistletoe sprig in one of these red tubs marked tree decorations?
I set my behind on a leather ottoman belonging to a neighboring chair. “You wanna hear a funny story?”
With another yawn, she gathers her luscious hair into a handheld ponytail. “I could use a good laugh.”
“Hmm. I don’t know if my story’s that good, but here goes.” I slap the tree box. “This baby right here makes three trees for me this year. So far, that is.” I flash her a playful smile.
Her eyes widen. “No way.”
“Yep.”
“Three?”
I explain about helping Mom during my trip home. “And of course, you know about the diner tree.” Best non-date date ever. A month of planning couldn’t have topped that spur of the moment stroke of genius.
She pulls her spine from the squeaky leather. “Oh, Knox, really, you don’t have to do this. Don’t let my mom pressure you. I can deal with her.”
I can’t help but smile big. Everly has that effect time and again. Not only could I gaze at her for hours, if I can finagle a way to separate from prying eyes, I’ll pick up where we left off before that pest of a sister shut things down last night.
Slow down, man.
“I’m pressure-free, Everly. Let’s toss some icicles onto this baby.”
The pucker of her full lips rockets me to the moon. “Sorry, no tinsel in these tubs. Mom outlawed the stuff when I was five.”
I snap my fingers. “Aw, shucks.”
She droops back, tugging together the sides of the cream-colored, cozy cardigan she wears. The pale shade pops the intense color of her irises. “Well…phooey.”
“Phooey?”
“I was hoping for an excuse to back out of this chore.”
“Chore?” Ouch.
“Hey.” Her foot bumps my loafer. “I’m happy you’re here.
All I’m saying is, I don’t know how Uncle Charlie does it.
Running a diner is not for the faint of heart.
My lower back is begging me to call a chiropractor, and,” she pinches her fingers almost together, “I’m this close to buying a pair of old-lady orthotic shoes. ”
I take her hand, smoothing my thumb across her knuckles. “I’m sure Charlie appreciates what you’re doing.”
She smirks. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you, but he called Mom this morning and nearly had another heart attack when she told him I closed early last night. Mom says she can’t repeat the things he said, but I’ll take the suspense out of it for you: thanks for your help was not one of them.”
Everly is funny. Honest to goodness clever and proficient in making me smile. I lean against my fist, registering the sleepiness around her eyes. “Do you suppose a quick foot rub before starting the tree would scandalize your mom?”
A wistful smile precedes a sigh. “Scandalize is a strong word, but…yeah, better pass on that. And Oakley would never let me hear the end of it.”
“How about we make it a raincheck?”
Dadgum, I wasn’t going for sultry, but the average nursing home patient could hear the gravel in my voice, sans hearing aid. Hopefully, the fact that I parked myself in a pew this morning balances out any negative impressions.
I stand and tug her up with me. “Come on, sleepy. Show-on-the-road time.” It takes every last ounce of self-control not to circle my arms around her waist and haul her to me as if we’ve been together for a year.
I place my palms atop her shoulders and point her in the direction of the box waiting to be stripped of packing tape. She baby-stomps her feet in protest.
“Oh, brother. Never mind.” I pinch her shoulder blade. “Curl back up in that recliner and take yourself a nap. I’ll handle this part.”
She groans. “Mom would never let me hear the end of it.”
I fish the pocketknife that goes everywhere I go from my slacks. Everly stands aside as I slide the blade the length of the box.
Working as a team, we assemble the base and the graduated boughs, bottom to top. The Wilkes’ tree isn’t nearly as tall as Mom’s, but it’s tall enough to require Knox the Ox’s stature for the top piece, no ladder required.
“I wish I were taller,” Everly says as I secure the topper in place.
I move to the center of the area rug to assess my handiwork, swatting my palms together. Fake needles are as itchy as real ones. “Nah, you’re too nice to be a tall person.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Tall folks look down on others.”
Everly’s cute—make that womanly—hip pops out, topped by her fist. “You just made that up, didn’t you?”
I grin. “Was it that bad?”
“Don’t quit your day job, Knox. Leave comedy to the pros.”
I grab my chest like she slugged me in the heart.
Eyes sparking with laughter, she further buzzes my senses by placing a cozy hand on my arm as she steps around me. “Let’s plug this baby in and see how we did.”
Before I can stop her, she drops to the floor and half of her disappears behind the tree. A second later, lights flare.
“Uhhh, Houston, we have a problem.”
Everly backs out of the nook between the tree and the fireplace hearth. She hops sideways when a branch swats her behind. “Don’t tell me there’s a section not working.”
“Not exactly...”
Disappointment cascades across her shoulders. The tree is one with switchable color themes, but a lone tier of branches shines with multicolor lights, while the rest glow sparkly clear.
“I assume it isn’t supposed to be this way?”
She gnaws her cheek. “Safe to say.”
“I’ll take a look.” I lower to the rug and flatten myself as much as possible to scoot beneath the southernmost boughs. “Must have gotten some wires crossed.”
A minute later, the tree shimmies and a needle drops onto my face. Everly joins me on the other side of the four-pronged stand, peering up the fake trunk. The aroma of sugary cookies drifts into the crawl space with her. Our shoulders brush.
“See anything?”
A pair of lips that might as well be sugarplum candy. “Nothing I know how to do anything about.” Not with mom and sis around.
“Hmm.”
Puckered in thought, Everly’s kissable mouth drags my brain further and further from diagnosing this tree. I roll my head, squinting up the tunnel of branches. “It might be more helpful if you were looking from up top.”
“Oh. Sure.” She inches for the exit.
In her tone, I hear I said the wrong thing, or at least said it the wrong way. “Wait.” My touch stills her. Smiling into her eyes, I sweep my fingers across buttery soft skin on the inside of her wrist.
Cocooned in an idyllic snippet of privacy, I lean across the four-legged stand and press a kiss to the curve of her cheek.
Her slow smile dissipates a wave of second-guessing. I’m not an impulsive guy, but the kiss was pure instinct. And for the record, my lips tingle with anticipation of the next one, one where both our lips will be involved.
Everly slips from beneath the tree, and we spend the next minutes as a team, tracing green cords and unplugging and re-plugging different connectors.
Best efforts exhausted, I stand in the middle of the living room rug, my chin tucked into my palm. Everly’s shoulder is brushing mine again, electrifying the skin beneath my shirt. “How is your mom going to handle this?”
“Less than perfect? It’s gonna be dicey.”
“Aw, she seems way too sweet for that.”
“Hate to break it to you, but any perfectionism I own comes straight from her.” Everly sends me a scolding frown. “And didn’t we already discuss her unhealthy attachment to Christmas décor?”
I grin. “Yes, but you weren’t quite this succinct.”
“My bad.” She folds her arms across her middle. Her fingers emerge from the sleeves of her sweater and curl around the cuffs. “You should probably get out while the getting’s good.”
We laugh together.
I tilt my head at the flawed tree. “It’s still kind of pretty, don’t you think? It’s unique.” With its single stratum of colored lights.
“It’s a special tree.”
I nod. “Perfected by imperfection.”
“Works for me.”
We high-five and dissolve into laughter.
Laugh-sighing, she holds her side. “Just don’t expect my mom to be as agreeable.”
Her mother picks the very second to flit around the corner. She stops on a dime, gaping at the tree. Everly shifts into explanation mode, praising my heroic efforts at an attempted fix.
Claire’s blatant dismay, valiantly quashed, makes the smile that breaks across her face and enthusiastic handclap hugely entertaining. “How lovely!”
Everly turns to me. “She’s only saying that because you’re here.”
“Yes, he is, Everly Anne, and you should make the most of it.” Claire brushes past, tweaking her on the arm. “Cookies are almost ready, and then we can start decorating.”
Everly gawks. Pink flares across her cheeks, spreading like wildfire in a drought. I thought my mom was the queen of embarrassing her offspring, but at least she backed off as I got older.
“You’re catching flies, Ev.” I tap the pad of my finger to her chin and close her mouth, which only fans the flames on her cheeks.
Beautiful. I must say my time in Chandor has evolved into a dramatically interesting interlude.
Utensils rattle, a drawer bangs, and Claire’s voice singsongs from just out of sight. “Cookies and cocoa are served. Come and get it!”
I brush my lips to Everly’s ear. “And here I was thinking the sweetness in the air was you.”
A soft gasp rings to my ears before she scampers to the kitchen. By the time I catch up, she’s loaded down with goodies and scoots a warm, red and white Santa plate across the island at me. Sugar cookies topped with chocolate kisses.
My fingers barely fit through the handle of the mug she presses at my opposite hand. A swirl of snowy white cream caps the drink, and a candy cane rests against the rim.
So much sugar. Good thing I’m not planted behind a desk all day. I’m getting old enough that maintaining my girlish figure takes work. But speaking of sugar, Everly is as sweet as the confections in my hands. She leads with attitude, but getting to know her reveals a soft, gooey inside.
We return to the living room and consume our snacks from opposite corners of the sofa. I sat first, so the chasm is her doing. Claire joins us, daintily sipping her cocoa from a wingback chair near the fireplace. She chatters away about new ornaments she purchased.
Oakley has pulled a vanishing act. Whew, because it seems I’ve failed the sister test after what appeared to be a fast start in the right direction.
Once the cookies are in our stomachs, Everly takes to her feet and stares down the naked tree. “Alrighty. Let’s get this party started.” She pops the candy cane from her mug and hangs it in her mouth.
The decorating goes into full, merry swing. Claire tunes the television to a channel playing a Yule log and holiday tunes.
Radio stations went twenty-four-seven on Christmas music weeks ago, restaurants and stores nearly as long.
In a normal year, the repetition is making my stomach queasy by now, but today, the strains of the festive classics capture everything I long to be feeling in this season. Peace, joy, belonging.
Crazy, I know. Belonging with the people in this comfy home is a stretch at this stage of the game, but meeting Everly has me reimagining the dismal holiday season I was facing until she came along.
The lady has been a gift, and I feel like I’ve only slipped my finger beneath the first piece of tape in the unwrapping process.
There’s not a thing I don’t want to discover about her.
Claire’s hands fly to her cheeks. “Oh my goodness, Knox! I promised you a football game.”
“Wait, no. Keep the music.”
She brings her hands in for a clasp near the gold buttons on her red sweater. “Are you sure?
“Absolutely.” My team will win or lose without me, and their play has never felt less relevant. “Holiday music is way more fun for tree trimming.”
The distinctive sound of an old-school telephone ringer comes from a sparkly phone on the coffee table. “Oh, Ev, that’s your Dad!” Claire drops a snowflake ornament like it’s fire as opposed to fake ice and vanishes down a hallway.
In front of the tree, Everly trails her finger along the curve of a glittery silver ball. Her pouty lips are tugged to one side. “You know you just scored a dozen brownie points, right?”
“Brownie points?”
“Telling Mom that decorating was more fun than football.” Her hair shimmers from the flames in the fireplace.
I step around an ottoman and meet her at the tree. The toes of my loafers kiss the tips of her stocking feet. “I meant it.”
She lofts her chin to a quizzical angle. Mischief crinkles her eyes. “Did you now?”
“I did.”
She smells of sweet candy cane. Bet she tastes like it too.
A silky strand of hair is hung up in the weave of her sweater. I free it, sliding my finger to the tip of her collarbone.
Her head cocks, and her smile has pluck. “What’s your game, stranger?”
I didn’t plan this, but I can’t think of a better first-kiss scenario. Toasty fire. Sparkly lights. Jingly music. I dip my face—
“Yeah. What is your game, Knox Herd?”